Only you can save me (A Paul Walker fanfiction)

Chapter Seventeen: You don't know what life is, until you die for it

"Hold her hands before she breaks loose" 

"ok" 

"No, please no!" 

Will this never end? Please have mercy, please I can't anymore, it hurts so much you hurt me so much please, make it end ... but of course there is no mercy, no reprieve as they just thrust and take and make me scream and beg and plead. As always, there is no escape for me.

I winced as I took the key out of my pocket. I moved like I was eighty and it was still too much. My back stung and my wrists were so chafed even the soft fleece of the sweater was too much to bear. I told myself I was ok, I had to be. I pasted on a smile, as usual, and went in. I was happy to find Paul sitting at the table, reading one of the magazines I had left him. He was still too thin but at least he didn't look like he was at deaths door anymore. I said hello and quietly put the groceries and medication in the kitchen cabinets, emptying the heavy bag I had been carrying. I could feel his eyes on my, impatient for me to be finished.

"I want to talk to you."

I closed my eyes and sighed. That sentence had become the bane of my existence to an extent where I would trade it for his silent days any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Be patient I reminded myself. Just be patient. I sat down opposite him at the small square table and tried to look composed. I knew what was coming ...

"I don't want to live. I want you, please, to help me die."

Yup ... here we went again ... The worst part was that I couldn't really say he was wrong in his arguments. He was a cripple, in near constant pain, he couldn't do anything but sit around, he had nightmares and PTSD, it was all true. I almost felt like a cruel hag denying him my help. After all, what scintillating counter arguments did I have? Things will get better, you'll see ... yes that was extremely helpful and tangible. I just wanted to put my hands over my ears and sing lalala like a child as he started his round of begging. 

I can't do this ... I really can't take this now ... But I had little choice but to listen to him make a case for his own death as if he were giving a science presentation. Ever time it felt as if he was sticking knives into my soul with every word he said. Unknown to him I had tried every form of healing I knew, using every scrap of energy I had to make him better, but it hadn't worked. It had worked on some things, some of the burn marks were much better (I used ointment to cover up the healing as I thought it would freak him out) but the things that were causing him the most misery, his leg and his back, remained as bad as they were. 

Usually I kept up a façade, being upbeat and positive, telling him I was certain he was wrong. And letting out my anger and despair where he couldn't hear me. But now, after the emotional and physical beating I had already taken less than twelve hours before, I didn't have the energy to pretend. 

"How can you do this to me?"

The words were barely more than a whisper, cutting through whatever sentence he was saying. He stopped talking, looking away. I knew his own pain was bad, and he wasn't trying to hurt me on purpose, but surely he had to realise? The thought brought tears with it, silently falling and making spots on the blue fleece of my sweater. 

"Look at me."

But still he wouldn't move.

"Look at me!"

I was suddenly enraged, and standing up I threw my chair back so it fell on the floor behind me, something that startled him. I knew very well that he was trying to kill himself when I wasn't there so I had taken every measure possible to remove anything that could harm him, taking knives and even forks home with me, leaving him with plastic baby cutlery to eat with. Now I grabbed the small potato knife I had brought with me and thrust it in his hand, then held it firmly. He struggled but my fury made me stronger than him and I refused to let him move. While I held onto his wrist with one hand, I pulled my sweater up and over my head, revealing the lastest round of bruises and bite marks. I knew they were pretty bad so I made sure he got a good look.

"You stupid idiot. You think you're the only one bad things happened to? You think everyone else has charmed lives? You think because you can't do shit now you will be miserable forever? You told me life is about choices but you forgot that didn't you? I'm not saying it wasn't bad, you got dealt a shitty hand but guess what you bastard, so did I. So if you want to die, be my guest, but stop asking me to help you because I won't. If you want to die, the door is right there, don't let it hit you on the way out. Go find someone else whose heart you can break and whose appartment can become your latest death scene, you ungrateful mongrel."

With that I let his hand go, and walked outside. I slammed the door shut and locked it so it was impossible for him to reach me, then just fell down and started crying. I cried even harder when I heard the outside door slam. He left. He just left ... I couldn't believe it ... I made myself as small as I could and cried until I heard something on the other side of the garden fence. I sat up and saw two hands on the top, then a blonde head that appeared. I couldn't believe it ... he was climbing over it. 

A small laugh escaped me as I watched him struggle over the wooden planks. He hadn't left, he had gone round to be able to get to me. He didn't talk, he just sat beside me with his arm around me. I leaned into him and put my head on his shoulder, he put his head on mine and I in turn put my arm around him too. Day turned to dusk while we sat there, wordlessly talking. 

He never asked me again ...